


There Will Be Time

by Livia_LeRynn



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Furiosa POV, Missing Scene, Stream of Consciousness, free form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livia_LeRynn/pseuds/Livia_LeRynn
Summary: Seven thousand days sit between them like a wall built off bricks, each one not so much, but together… Those bricks could have made a road or an arch or any number of things that joined instead of separated, but no, they became a wall.   Now the women can only chip away at the mortar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I awoke from my post-Thanksgiving food coma and cranked this baby out. I was supposed to be working on one of my in-process fics. Oops. I'm keeping it lightly edited to stay true to its original tone.

The two women regard each other with a hesitant curiosity now that the joy of their initial reunion has cooled. Seven thousand days sit between them like a wall built off bricks, each one not so much, but together… Those bricks could have made a road or an arch or any number of things that joined instead of separated, but no, they became a wall. Now the women can only chip away at the mortar. 

Furiosa has no energy for such efforts. There’s too much to say about the present: camp to be made, plans to discuss, watch to keep… The past will have to wait. 

Valkyrie’s hands are calloused where they used to be soft. Her touch is still gentle though, or maybe just tentative as if she’s afraid Furiosa will crumble to dust between her fingers. Furiosa knows this fear well, along with many others. That’s why she let her metal hand hang useless at her side when she and Valkyrie first found each other: its touch is too rough, too coarse, too everything else that seven thousand days have made her. She didn't want to spoil the luminous glaze on Valkyrie’s earthenware skin, sun-fired golden and glorious, with clumsy scratches. Furiosa is steel forged from hatred. 

Or maybe Furiosa just didn’t want her to notice. Maybe she wanted to pretend that for those few, brief moments of reunion, that nothing had changed. But everything has changed, and the questions have to be teetering on the tip of Valkyrie’s tongue. All Furiosa wants is silence, but she can't decide if she wants to be transparent so Valkyrie can know everything without Furiosa needing to speak at all or if she wants to simply disappear and take all her secrets with her. What she really wants is for those seven thousand days to have never happened, for the Green Place to still be Green, for her mothers to still be singing bawdy songs in each other's embrace by the fire while she and Valkyrie giggle beneath their shared blanket.

There was one such night when Valkyrie asked in a round about way if Furiosa thought the two of them might ever become something similar. Furiosa had been young and stupid; she didn’t understand, and so when Valkyrie leaned to kiss her, Furiosa balked in surprise. Valkyrie had covered her disappointment well enough, and Furiosa kept pining for an older with hair the colour of sun-bleached sand even though she never thought to call her behavior such. It took her many days to realise how she had hurt Val, and by then she was locked away in the Citadel Vault. She knew everything would have turned out differently if she had chosen Val instead of the girl who would eventually betray her to the raider band. She wondered if she had been punished.

The thought is still threatening to push to the front of her mind as she and Valkyrie sit together. She keeps it barred behind plans for the next day. Talking about food and water rations and how many blankets to pack is easy. And Valkyrie will never say, “You stole the green from our place and the life from our land every time you stole a bloodbag or bought a breeder,” if Furiosa only speaks of practicalities. She tells Valkyrie enough about Joe, that they are being chased, and the two women agree that they have nowhere to go but _away_. 

There will be other nights spent staring across the salt. Maybe one will come when words slide from Furiosa’s mouth like sand tumbling down a dune. Maybe one night she will ask if Val ever took a lover or became mother. And maybe one night Val will ask the same questions, to which Furiosa will respond simply, “No.” Then Val will probably ask about the feral because he has no other explanation, and Furiosa will shake her head because his mystery can’t be solved so easily. 

Hers can’t either; chipping away at seven thousand bricks will take time, and she knows there’s no gleaming reward to be found behind then. But there will be time. It will come, and it will pass as time always does.


End file.
